Tag Archives: low-self esteem

This is basically directed at my dad, so apart from changing the names, I just left it in this letter format seeing as I wrote it as I was feeling it. Coarse language and severe satire follows. Fucking patronising dickhead “when you’re done with your intensive studying can you clean up a little?” fucking prick, because ‘Jacob’ is so clearly the golden child in this situation, sitting in his room, isolated from the world, doing nothing with his life except maybe pissing me off on a daily basis when he looks smugly at me when you praise him. ‘Oh, ‘Jacob’ cleaned the kitchen tonight…’Elaina’ you could’ve cooked dinner for your sister’ Well maybe ‘Jacob’ shouldn’t have eaten our hardworking, uni student-sister’s leftover lunch, and maybe you should’ve cooked dinner. Of course as soon as it becomes more complex than sausages, you refuse to look up a recipe even though you can’t cook- and even when I try to help you find one and make suggestions, you act as if some great burden has been placed upon you and decide it’s too hard. I’ve given up on cooking for you fuckheads because I spent hours finding healthy recipes which wouldn’t inconvenience me too much in (in terms of cooking skill and time)-between having a life, trying to lose weight because I’ve been insecure about that since forever (and thanks for letting ‘fat bitch’ slide for a good 7 years with ‘Hayden’ [other brother], can’t comprehend why such a nickname could be harmful), doing homework, and feeling miserable because I had no friends. Then I would go shopping with you, to which you would always complain if it took too long, then we would get home and I would unpack the whole fucking thing. Emphasis on I. ‘Jacob’ would so graciously bring a few bags inside before he went back to his room. Well done Golden Child (who has a penis), well done! Then I’d cook the damn meal, you’d make some remarks about how the kitchen was a bit messy (sorry I’m not a 50s housewife looking to protect you from dishes). And when I cooked, the dishes were never cleaned properly, so then I would have to re-clean the pots/utensils before I cooked. Worst case scenario, I wrongly assumed you or ‘Jacob’ had completed a simple task, and yet in the middle of cooking the meat, I get last night’s sauce coating tonight’s food. Poor you, you fifty-year old adult, I can’t fix your life when you’re fucking up mine on a daily basis. I used to rely on you before, but now I prefer it when you fuck off, because I don’t need you throwing a tantrum in the kitchen and turning your anger towards me. I’m done taking it, I don’t care how much you scowl at me, this is not going to be a one-sided conversation in which you are correct because you happened to ejaculate some sperm during an orgasm you fucking dickhead. “‘Elaina’, you should do a little more around the house” fuck off. On top of everything, when I came home feeling lonely and miserable from school, I had you in the kitchen-every fucking day and I am not exaggerating-yelling about every little thing. ‘Why is there an empty cup on the coffee table’ Because I’m done with life so I recently just took the last sip of coffee so I can be prepared for your bullshit. I dealt with it for too long, so you only have yourself to blame for the teenager who no longer enjoys going to school which makes doing homework a billion times harder as you helpfully suggest that I should do some laundry as ‘a break’ from studying. I still love you, because you can genuinely feel bad and apologise for these things and you can still be kind, but I don’t want to live under the same roof as you anymore. This keeps going on and we don’t put space between us, the space we will inevitably find will be permanent, as much as the thought of removing family from my life sickens and distresses me. Rant over.